All That's Left Of Me
by Rabbit-impudent guttersnipe
Summary: Lindsey thinks about some stuff. Subtextual Angel/Lindsey slash.


** All That's Left Of Me by Rabbit**

  
  
  
Title: All That's Left Of Me.

Author: Rabbit

Email: impudent_guttersnipe@hotmail.com or 

gatewaytoarashmaharr@hotmail.com

Summary: Lindsey thinks about some stuff.

Rating: R for bad language.

Spoilers: Epiphany written by Tim Minear (Some dialogue used.)

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, Joss Whedon does. Unfortunately this is done without his permission and without any monetary profit. (Sad Rabbit!)

Notes: This is a short one for Kassie, who goaded me into writing Lindsey!Fic. Although, this probably wasn't what she had in mind. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  


It's Friday night, the end of a long school week. Well, not too long, considering I only went two days, but I can't stand that bitch Mrs. Telsey. And who the fuck needs Comparative World Religions anyway? Sure, that'll look good on a resume, right under dumb shit smart-ass and car washer.  


"Hey McDonald."  


I look over at Larkin as he elbows me, nodding to the joint I'm holding.  


"Quit fucking bogarting, will ya?" He squints against the smoke and pinches his fingers together around the skinny roll of paper and weed, careful not to drop it in the grass. It's dark man, and we'd never find it by the light of the bonfire. And there's no point in wasting good weed, is there?  


Larkin inhales through pursed lips and holds it for about thirty seconds before he's overcome by short, sputtering coughs. Smoke rolls out of his mouth, even as he tries to hold it in. He gives up and passes it back as he complains, "Shit. Thompson called my mom today, told her I've been skipping."  


"Fucker. Did she nail ya?" I take a drag and hold it in. I never choke man, Larkin's a pussy and he knows it.  


"Nah, heard her and my dad arguing about it…turned right back around and kept walking." He leans down behind the log we're sitting on and grabs a Miller out of the case.  


This one is toast. I grind it out against the stump we're sitting on and put it in my pocket. I didn't bring my pipe, but I can scrape together a bowl's worth later. "Shit, that means he'll have called my house, and it'll be fun times at the old McDonald homestead tonight." That is going to suck, like nothing ever has. When my dad hears…Shit!  


"Lindsey, it's 12:30. We have to get home."  


"Well Tammy, unless you've learned how to drive in the last two hours, you're not going anywhere. Not until I'm fucking ready to leave." I hear Larkin's grunt of amusement next to me as he hands me a cold can.  


Her eyes narrow as I pop the top of the can and take a long swallow, and she puts her hands on her hips in the classic shrew pose, no doubt learned from our mom. "If you don't get in that truck and start driving, I'm gonna tell that you were smoking pot."  


"What the hell are you talking about?" Man, she's a little too smart for a twelve year old. I take another drink to think of something to throw her off the trail, but I'm coming up with nothing." We weren't smoking."  


"Duh, I can SMELL it! You are going to be so busted."  


"Oh man," Larkin offers in sympathy when he sees me toss the can into the bushes. He's got all brothers, and at least you can smack them into silence. Sisters always tell if you hit them, or your mom starts asking where she got all those bruises.  


"Get in the damn truck," I order her and then turn back to Larkin. "You going home?"  


He shrugs. "Yeah, I'm gonna wait a few more hours, let 'em worry, then sneak in. Call me tomorrow."  


I nod in agreement, climb into the cab of the ford and twist the key hard.  


(Bitch doesn't own me, and she better watch it.)  


When the ignition catches, music blares from the stereo, shaking the seat. I give a hard pull at the door, it's rusted out and it squeaks like shit, so it's kind of hard to get closed.  


There's a roach clip with feathers dangling from the rearview window and when I finally slam the door shut, it swings wildly. I put a hand out and grab it, holding it still and stopping its momentum before I put the truck in gear.  


I look in the mirror, not at her and say, "When he asks, we were at the movies."  


She doesn't say anything, just fumes with her arms crossed over her stomach.  


"You're going to be in just as much trouble as I will be. Do you want to set him off?"  


More silence, but she shakes her head. She knows better than to get him pissed. I told mom I was going to the movies with Larkin tonight. The only way she'd let me go was if I brought Tammy along. The kid knows the drill-movie, stopped at Denny's on the way home for French fries, had to get gas. It's an old routine.  


~~~

"Where the hell have you been!"  


Straight face…look right at him. It's like staring down a dog, you can't let 'em see you're weak or they'll be all over you in a minute. "Said we were at the movies." I've learned to be a good liar. I could stare right at him and tell him the sky was purple and not even blink an eye.  


"Bullshit, you little son of a bitch. I drove by there tonight…didn't see *you* there." He moves his attention to little sis and with a sideways glance; I can tell she's looking everywhere but at him. " One more time, where the hell were you?"  


Ah, see. That's a smart strategy, go for the weak, tender link in the chain and watch the whole thing go up in flames. I hear her starting to cry and shake my head. This is going to be a long night.  


"Go to your room girl, I'll deal with you later."  


He returns to me as I hear her flee up the stairs. Breaking me is not going to be that easy for him. He should know that by now.  


"Where were you boy?" This time it's softer, low and cold. He's pissed; this is the part that always comes right before he starts hitting me.  


One blink. "I told you, we were at the movies."  


"I didn't see you there." He moves closer, trying to intimidate me as he towers over me.  


I shrug, trying to stop the wobbling in my knees. Don't let him see you sweat. "Tammy had to go to the bathroom. We went into the donut shop next door because the movie line was long and she couldn't wait."  


"At the coffee shop huh? Is that where you got all that mud on your boots?"  


I look down and wince inwardly. Fuck. I should have thought of that. I clamp my jaw shut. I'm not saying anything else…it'll only get me in further.  


"Yeah, maybe that's why you've come home smelling like marijuana you little punk." He pushes my shoulder hard and I slam back into the wall. I'm surprised he didn't mention the alcohol…but maybe he thought that was him. He is pretty loaded and as I seem to recall, he hasn't been home for the last two days.  


"Your mother told me the principal called today, says you've been skipping classes."  


"I…"  


He doesn't let me say anymore than that, he slaps me hard against the cheekbone and if it's not broken, it will at least ache for the next week or so.  


"Don't lie to me Lindsey…"  


~~~~~

"Lindsey…Mr. McDonald?"  


"Hmn…what?"  


I look up to find Holland's replacement talking to me (I can never remember his name).  


This isn't good. I need to stop drifting off; one slip up could get me terminated. And I mean that in the most literal, cessation of living sense. I nod wisely and agree. I have no idea what I'm seconding, but he seems pleased, so…score one for me? Lilah seethes in silence, I can feel it rolling off of her in waves. Even at half attention-I'm golden, but it's wise not to push it.  


I can't help but blame this distraction on *her*…on Darla, and to a larger extent, on Angel.  


~~~~~

She's standing at the window, looking out over the lights of the city when I get home and its easy to forget what she is, easy to fantasize about a future with her. She just needs time to see how good we'd be together, time to forget…  


When I notice the ring, a voice inside me says-Lindsey, you dumb ass. I ignore it and some perverted part of me asks the question. "How did you get this?"  


"It was my payment."  


(I do not want to hear this…I do not want to hear this…I do not want to hear this) "Your payment? What are you talking about?" I know my lips are forming these words, but I can't seem to call them back.  


"What do you * think* I'm talking about, Lindsey?"  


I curl my hands into fists at my side. You can't know how much I want to hit her at this moment, want to smack the mouth that can dispassionately face me and tell me this without blinking an eye. I've sacrificed for her, gone against everyone and jeopardized my career to keep her safe and she couldn't wait to spread her legs for Angel, for someone who hates her and everything she is.  


I try not to think about Angel touching her, because I can feel the hate coiled there, in my stomach and it makes me feel like I need to smash something. It's like I'm sixteen all over again, jealous of everything around me, trying to prove that I'm better than everyone else. Mad at the homecoming queen because she chose the quarterback over me, failing to recognize that she never would've gone out with me in the first place. Even when I'm able to afford the cool car, she still thinks I'm beneath her.  


Darla and Angel think they're superior because they escaped whatever demon dimension they were trapped in? Well I've crawled my way out of hell too, and I've learned not to be afraid to take some prisoners along the way.  


"Yes. I want details-I need to know everything. All of it. What did he do to you?"  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you want to remove a cancer, you've got to go to the primary source

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I jump out of the truck and grab the hammer. He's bigger than me and he's got the whole preternatural strength issue on his side, but at this moment I don't give a fuck. I just really want to see him laying in the street, covered in blood…preferably his own.  


"You're going to tell me everything."  


You're going to tell me why the fuck you think you're so much better than I am. As I recall, you were some drunken Irish frat boy that followed a cunt into an alley for a quick jab against a building.  


"Everything you do with her. All of it. You're going to tell me."  


Then you lost your soul. Well, boo, fucking hoo. We've all made choices and we've lived with the consequences, haven't we? You've done some heavy shit in your time, so where do you get off being so self-righteous? You've got nothing to back it up.  


You're going to tell me why she can't see me through the memory of you. Why don't you explain to me why she would choose you, over someone who cares about her and wants to offer her everything she could possibly desire?  


Does it take an ego the size of L.A. and an expensive wardrobe? Nice place to live, bitching wheels? How about a condescending air of superiority? I think I can manage that one. Is she looking for 240 years of being an asshole? Well, I'll admit you've got a head start on me there, but I'm working on it.  


Don't tell me no, I'm the one with the sledgehammer. I'm the one with all the power at the moment. What? Getting your head bashed in not doing it for you?  


Maybe if messed up that pretty face of yours enough, she'd start to see mine a little more clearly? Or, maybe *I'd* just feel better about it and screw her? Maybe I've been looking at this whole situation in the wrong way, been too altruistic. Maybe I need to start thinking about *me* for a change.  


(What's the first thing on my new to do list? ) I fumble around in the bed of my truck and feel my fingers close around the wooden stake there. I'm going to do what I should have done a long time ago…I'm going to cut out the tumor that's been dragging down my quality of life.  


Two words for ya Angel: Good. Bye.  


"I'm sorry Lindsey..."  


(Don't talk to me that way you condescending son of a bitch. Are you sorry that she's back, sorry that I'm the one who gave her back the life you took?)  


"I'm sorry she'll never love you..."  


(But not sorry enough to *not* fuck her?)  


"…I'm sorry you're going to have to live with that…"  


Maybe I won't. Why don't I drop her on your doorstep and you can watch out for her for a while? You feel like dodging a few lightening bolts by The Powers That Be when they found out your harboring your ex? No, I didn't think so. Well I risked worse than that from the firm and she still chose you.  


Do you have some wise advice for getting over that, some kind consolation for a dumb hick that thought changing everything about himself would make him into someone that matters, that he would deserve love from someone who didn't charge two fifty and hour?  


"I'm sorry I didn't try harder to help you when you came to me."  


Yes, because then I could stand in line with your other success cases, couldn't I? Faith trusted you and it landed her in jail. I would've given her a family to belong to, a mission and a purpose at Wolfram and Hart, money…everything a young woman could want. You've given her prison blues and the chance for a gang rape in the showers.  


And that cop Kate? I heard they demoted her. What a wonderful career plummet you've helped her achieve. I guess the force looks down on aligning yourself with mutant freaks that leave a trail of unexplained bodies in their wake? Not to mention when you failed to save her father.  


Cordelia Chase and Wesley Wyndham Pryce? How many times have they nearly died trying to fulfill your prophesy of being the coolest vampire with a soul around. How many humiliating private tapes of them have you premiered at Hollywood gala events? Oh, you tore a little hunk out of Wolfram and Hart's ankle, didn't you. And what the hell if you had sacrifice the loyalty and dignity of your supposed friends? The ends justify the means don't they?  


Isn't that the attitude you've always looked down on me for? Shockingly funny how alike we are, isn't it? And yet, you always look at me like something you've scraped off the bottom of your shoe. Well take another look. You'd be surprised at how narrow the chasm is between the bitch of The Powers That Be and a one handed lawyer.  


You're sorry you didn't try harder to help me? Newsflash-I don't need your help, because you're just as fucked up as I am.  
  
  


END 


End file.
